Blood on Our Sheets
by possessed-anarchist
Summary: SLASH. In a pack of hungry wolves there can only be one alpha male. Boyd/Ives, some Ives/Hart.
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: M/M slash, some blood and violence

Pairings: Boyd/Ives, Ives/Hart

Notes: This is revealed to be AU in the second chapter and you'll find out why then. Also I couldn't think of a title, that much is obvious.

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 1<span>

"You know why he wants you don't you?" Hart's question was almost off-hand and he glanced at Boyd only to ensure the younger man was listening. "He wants to make a _family_." Boyd didn't miss the sneer behind this final word, as if Hart thought the idea perverse or comical. "He's already got me – to act as protector. Now he's just looking for someone a little easier on the eye."

Hart lowered the axe in his hand where he stood chopping wood for kindling and straightened, meeting Boyd's gaze and holding it. It was all Boyd could do not to look away.

"You know what he did to me in the cave? He seduced me." This was uttered as if the answer were obvious. Hart took a moment to continue chopping the wood, knowing that now Boyd could not possibly stop listening even if he'd wanted to. "Not in as obvious a way as you might be thinking of course. Not in the way a woman seduces a man, more like when a predator calms its prey before delivering the final blow. And don't get me wrong, we didn't sleep together, at least not in _that_ sense, but we ate and drank together, licked the blood from one another," he paused, curling his lip in disgust, "like animals."

Burying the axe in a nearby log, Hart ceased his work and straightened to his full height, fixing Boyd with a pointed stare. "I'm wary about you though... I think he wants you for something more. You've seen what he can do – _I've _seen the power he has over you. I don't think it'd take much. You'll be eating out of his hand in no time."

Boyd swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. He wanted to object but Hart had delivered his speech with such certainty that Boyd himself was beginning to think it might be true. There was something undeniably lucrative about Ives and Ives himself seemed all too aware of it and Boyd was adamant he wouldn't succumb.

* * *

><p>Ives was asleep, wrapped in layers of dark fur, his arm the only part of him visible where it hung down over the edge of the cot. Boyd could see the cross from the rosary at his wrist, dangling mockingly, as if Ives had consciously left his arm on show on the off chance that Boyd would see him.<p>

Cautiously Boyd lifted the fur from around the other man. Ives was naked beneath the fur and yet again Boyd got the distinct feeling that Ives had planned this carefully, that he knew Boyd would come to him at night, knife in hand in an attempt to slay him. Boyd felt his fingers tremble around the hilt of the knife as his eyes travelled over the smaller man's body. He'd seen him naked before of course, as Colqhoun, and at the time thought little of it, but now as Ives he seemed different. Somehow his small and lithe frame held more appeal, the flat planes and protruding bones of his body more fascinating than he could remember any woman's soft curves ever being. He'd never been an enormous hit with women, he possessed the looks but not the confidence, but he knew that he'd never usually look twice at a man. This wasn't about sex, he reminded himself. This was a trick, a mixture of the blood lust that surged within him and the spell Ives had cast over him, over them _all_, with his knowing charisma. Once upon a time Boyd would have brushed Ives off as scrawny, with too foxish a face to ever really be thought of as classically handsome, but Ives had somehow elevated himself to something beyond the capabilities of his physical form and in that moment Boyd couldn't think of anything more desirable. Giving in to it would be so easy, but if he could just end it...

Boyd tightened his grip on the knife, clenching his teeth as he drew back before plunging the blade towards the sleeping man's bare chest.

A hand shot out to his wrist, the blade poised a mere inch from Ives' skin.

Boyd gasped, eyes darting to meet the piercing, near black gaze of the man beneath him. He moved to strike Ives with his free hand but he was easily restrained when Ives' other hand shot out to hold him in place above him.

"What is it, Boyd? You think you can kill me?" Ives chuckled, guiding the blade down towards his chest and Boyd's breath caught in his throat as Ives slowly drew the point of the blade diagonally across his chest, blood beading in a line across the pale white flesh in a deep, ruby red.

Ives laughed ecstatically as Boyd groaned out a mixture of despair and longing, the smell filling his nostrils, the urge to drink clouding his vision and he dropped the blade, pulling himself from Ives' grasp and scrambling to his feet, stepping away from the bed. Ives calmly craned his neck to examine the slash across his chest before dropping his head back against the pillow as he exhaled slowly, rubbing the blood across his chest in circles.

Boyd stood rooted to the spot, horrified at the display before him but unable to turn away. Ives was writhing on the furs, smothering his own blood down over himself, gasping in elation as he did so. He turned his head, fixing his half-lidded gaze on Boyd, mouth parted as his breath escaped in one long, shuddering breath.

"You don't know what you're missing Boyd," he purred, bringing his index finger up to his mouth and sucking the blood from it with obscene concentration, before running his hand down the hollow of his chest, his abdomen and down through the soft curls at his groin, toying idly with his cock.

"You're disgusting," Boyd sneered, forcing himself to turn away.

"Am I?" Ives breathed, his brow creasing in a slight frown, although his voice betrayed no genuine concern, only curiosity. "I don't know..." he mused, "I think you'd actually find me rather..." he paused, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, parting his legs and pushing his hips up as he reached down past his scrotum and towards the puckered hole between his buttocks before pulling his hand back swiftly and collapsing back against the bed, turning back to Boyd and smiling when he found the other man's eyes back upon him. "...pleasant to the taste," he finished in a rush of breath.

Boyd's nostrils twitched in response to the smell of the other man's blood, now spread liberally about his lower half, giving him the appearance of a man who'd been brutally sexually abused (_or gutted_ Boyd thought darkly), save for the almost euphoric expression on his face.

Yet again Boyd found himself having to physically force himself to look away, knowing his expression mimicked that of a stubborn child but unable to feign indifference. "No," he barely managed to mutter. In his peripheral vision he saw Ives stir, swinging his legs off the bed and getting to his feet, a white blur with a streak of red, like the ghostly apparition of a murdered man glimpsed only in the corner of his eye. He turned, hoping deep down that the vision would disappear before his eyes but Ives stood before him, still pale and terrifying as a ghost against the dark backdrop of the cabin, but unmistakably _real._

"You see Boyd I _know_ what you want," Ives said, fixing him once more with his penetratingly hypnotic gaze, his voice no longer a whisper of feigned longing but something altogether darker. He took slow, cautious steps towards Boyd as he spoke, as if he expected the other man to bolt at any moment. "There's nothing you'd like more than to engage in a little," Boyd found himself against herded back against the cabin wall, the length of Ives' body mere inches from his own as the shorter man leant up to whisper against his ear, "blood sport."

Boyd let out a bellow of rage, catching Ives off guard as he barrelled into him, using the slight difference in weight to his advantage to knock the other man to the floor, the blade falling from his hand and clattering to the floor. Ives landed awkwardly on his flank, managing to get his hands beneath him in time to stop himself from smashing his cheek against the floor. Boyd had time to register the look of unmitigated shock on Ives' face before descending on him, wrestling him down onto his stomach so that the other man was trapped beneath him, flat against the floor.

"Is this it?" Boyd growled fiercely into his ear, "Is this what you want?"

Ives was silent a moment before he chuckled. "Very good," he purred but Boyd hadn't mistaken the tremor in his breath, hadn't missed the fear that had flashed across his face as the other man had knocked him down.

"What are you waiting for?" Ives breathed and Boyd felt him shift beneath him, parting his legs and pushing his backside up to meet his crotch. Boyd snarled, pushing himself up onto his knees and rolling the other man over onto his back.

Again Boyd was sure that Ives' expression registered fear but his face cracked almost instantly into a smirk and he snickered cruelly at Boyd's apparent fury. "Did I offend you Boyd?" He sneered without a hint of apology and Boyd instinctively tangled his fingers in the back of the other man's hair, pulling his head back to expose his neck in an attempt to cut short his malevolent laughter, the silence that followed almost palpable, punctuated only by Ives' elevated breathing as he stilled in Boyd' arms, as if in the expectation of an assault.

What followed was not the vicious blow to the head Ives had prepared himself for, though it was an assault all the same, as Boyd fell upon him, lips and tongue hungrily lapping, sucking and biting at the wound on his chest. Ives groaned, grinding up against Boyd's still clothed body in response to the sensual feel on his lips against him, his legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer. Blissfully, Boyd didn't seem to notice, barely even registered as Ives reached down, snaking a hand between them and unbuttoning the front of the other man's trousers, using his feet to push them down around Boyd's ankles.


	2. Chapter 2

Warnings: M/M slash, blood

Notes: Apologies/random observations to follow after this chapter

This part is just the worst. The stuff in the cabin I find to be appallingly badly written, not to mention just being bullshit generally (it's all a bit contrived)

Edit: I forgot to put breaks in. It should flow better now.

Chapter 2

Hart looked up from where he knelt tending the fire as the door burst open, revealing Boyd who looked to have been hurriedly dressed, his shirt and what little of his skin Hart could see covered in blood. His trousers however remained remarkably clean in comparison. Hart rose to his feet slowly, registering the dark look of anger written across Boyd's face. Perhaps Ives had finally pushed him too far.

"Guard Dog," Boyd said flatly. Hart took a moment to realise that Boyd was addressing him, before the other man pulled Ives into view. Ives too was covered in blood, more so even than Boyd, but on the whole he appeared undamaged, naked except for the black fur pelt draped loosely over his shoulders which also showed evidence of being caked in blood.

"Your bitch requires your assistance," Boyd continued coldly, pushing Ives forward roughly causing him to stumble slightly. Hart stepped forward to catch him, registering the look of intense irritation on Ives' face before lifting his head to fix his gaze back to Boyd. Boyd narrowed his eyes, his voice coming out almost as a toneless murmur, but his eyes betrayed the quiet rage that was building inside him. "I suggest you keep him away from me unless you want to see his guts decorating the walls."

Hart felt a pang of desire as Boyd slammed the door. Having Ives out of the picture certainly would make everything so much easier. There'd be no reason at all for him to stay. He quickly shook the thought away as nonsense. He wouldn't allow himself to entertain thoughts of having Ives killed. Ives had given him what most would consider a great gift, and he was obliged to repay him for that. He looked down at the other man, who remained glaring at the closed door where Boyd had stood moments before and Hart frowned.

"What did you do?"

Ives lifted his head to look at up at him as if he'd forgotten the other man was present before shrugging. "Oh, nothing much," he said simply, "I was just playing."

"With his _blood_?"

Ives chuckled humourlessly. "Actually, it's mostly my blood." He explained, opening his makeshift robe to reveal the deep gash across his chest, the wound already beginning to scab over. In mere hours it would be gone completely.

Hart took the opportunity to eye Ives up and down. The trail of blood lead down past his naval to his crotch and what was unmistakably smears left by bloody fingers between his thighs.

"You tried to seduce him?" Hart asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Actually Colonel, I succeeded." Ives answered with indifference, striding casually across the room and falling into the nearest chair, the fur falling immodestly open around him where he half-sat, half-lay atop it.

Hart averted his gaze. Ives was irritated that Boyd had rejected him, and now he demanded attention. He wouldn't say so at first, but if Hart ignored him he'd start to moan and writhe and touch himself, only ever asking for it verbally as a last resort. He'd been like that in the cave too, only then it had been harder for Hart to resist, when he was constantly hungry and still healing and there had been only the two of them there – Ives had got him to lick him clean with only the merest hint of blood play. Apparently a lot more blood had been required to convince Boyd.

Hart glanced back up. Ives was staring at him silently with his hypnotically dark gaze, fingers absently trailing a line down over his stomach. Too flat, Hart thought. If Ives had looked like him; tall, overweight and unhandsome, would it have been the same? He doubted it. But then, if Ives had looked like him he almost certainly wouldn't be using the same methods of seduction. No, if things had been the other way around Hart would have used sheer brute strength to get his way.

_You still could, _a small voice in the back of his head reminded him. _He's fast but you're stronger._

Ives let out a low sigh from across the room, drawing Hart's attention back to him. Their eyes met across the room and Ives smirked, shifting his legs apart to give Hart a more generous view of his nethers, a hand print smeared up the back of his thigh, down over his rump and around his arsehole, which looked distinctly sore and open.

"Boyd made no attempt to clean up afterwards," Ives murmured with despondency. "Perhaps you might...?"

Hart wet his lips. He knew how this ended, they both did. He couldn't have resisted even if he'd wanted to.

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><p>Boyd sat across from Hart, glaring angrily through the door to the next room. Ives was asleep in the chair, visible through the open door, wrapped tightly in the fur.<p>

"You won't be able to ignore him." Hart said quietly. "You have to get _rid _of him, before you become obsessed."

Boyd's gaze flicked to Hart's. "Like you, you mean?"

Hart sighed in exasperation, hanging his head. "Yes," he admitted wearily, glancing towards the door. "I've known since the cave that I won't be able to kill him. I've _wanted _to, but I couldn't do it." He got to his feet, walking towards the door and leaning on the frame, staring at Ives. Instinctively he lowered his voice; for fear that Ives would wake. "I remember in the cave waking up to find him asleep beside me. He was completely naked, covered in the blood of our... colleagues. I remember thinking in that moment that I'd never seen anything more beautiful." He turned, closing the door quietly. "I have of course. But the temptation does things to your mind."

"Yes. I noticed that." Boyd said evenly. "Colqhoun and Ives... he planned the whole thing didn't he?"

"Yes, he knew exactly what he was doing appearing so vulnerable to us. He is deadly though, make no mistake about that."

"He'd already decided who to kill and who to spare long before we even reached the cave."

"Probably." Hart agreed bleakly.

The pair of them visibly jumped as the door opened and Ives appeared in the doorway, fur draped over his shoulder hanging open at the front. Boyd noted that the blood Ives had on him when he'd delivered him to Hart had gone, most likely down Hart's throat he surmised.

"Well, isn't this cosy?" Ives smirked tauntingly.

"For god's sake put some clothes on!" Hart barked, unusually angry, his gaze averted from Ives as if he believed himself responsible for Ives' behaviour and feared Boyd would judge him for it.

Ives stared at him with an unreadable expression before his gaze flicked back to Boyd. "I trust you've calmed down after last night."

Boyd stiffened, fighting the urge to rush at him, but it proved a losing battle. In a second he was on his feet, slamming Ives hard against the wall, the pelt slipping to the floor.

"You just stay away from me!" He snarled.

"Boyd, don't!" Hart said hurriedly, rising to his feet and pulling Boyd off the other man.

Boyd stepped back, staring between the two of them as Hart moved around in front of Ives.

"Very clever Ives," Boyd muttered coldly. "You planned everything. Never letting your protector too far from your sight."

Ives half smiled, half sneered in response and Boyd's gaze flicked to Hart's.

"He's only using you. He'll cast you off the moment you become inconvenient."

"He doesn't care about your pathetic speculation Boyd." Ives said confidently, stepping forward from behind the larger man. "Neither do I for that matter," he was ready to step forward but a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

"It's fine Boyd," Hart addressed him, but pulled Ives roughly back against him. "I don't mind playing second fiddle." He leant down, burying his nose in Ives' hair to smell the dried blood that remained there hungrily. Ives allowed this but looked decidedly irritated by it all the same.

"You can have him," Boyd said evenly. "It'll torture you either way." And he left, grabbing his coat on the way out the door.

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><p>He couldn't kill Ives. He definitely couldn't kill Hart, not without good reason. Could he kill himself?<p>

An eternity with these men - Ives with his demanding, aggressive sexual nature and Hart, who'd allowed even his naturally jovial demeanour to be tempered by Ives' foreboding presence – could he possibly accept such an existence? Caught between a man who he both despised and desired, and another who he liked but who'd kill him on demand wasn't the most desirable of positions to be in.

Boyd wondered if, as a man Ives had been just as manipulative, just as ruthlessly efficient. Had he desired men even then? Did he even desire them now or was it all just a means to an end? Boyd was struck with the realisation that there probably wasn't a limit to how far Ives would go to get what he wanted.

He was pulled gradually from his reverie by the sound of crunching footsteps on snow and Ives appeared at his side. He was fully dressed, hair brushed and swept back behind his ears, looking about as well groomed as it was possible to be given their living conditions. _He's probably healed too_, Boyd thought dimly, his gaze rolling lazily away from the other man and back across the hills. _Every part of him..._

"You know I'm not demanding exclusivity," Ives' voice cut through the silence, filling Boyd with cold dread. He'd known the silence couldn't last, that sooner or later Ives would drag him back to his wretched existence, demanding something of him, never leaving him alone for long as if in fear that he might leave. _Stupid_, Boyd thought. _Where would I possibly go?_

"You're free to find someone you want to initiate, a mate if you will. Of course I have to approve him... or her... and it can be a woman Boyd, if that's what you desire." Ives paused, wetting his mouth. "I let Slauson go. Surely that's proof that I have no qualms about it?"

Boyd kept his gaze set firmly on the landscape ahead. General Slauson had left mere days after his inception, saying he was going to bring a woman back. Boyd couldn't be sure, but he'd gotten the distinct impression that Slauson had left specifically to track down Martha, whether as a meal or as a mate he wasn't sure, but Ives had let him go, implying he had little feeling on the matter either way.

Ives had turned bodily towards him now, his voice soft, imploring.

"All I ask in return is that you obey me... and come to my bed when I require it, which won't be often." Ives' gaze lowered slightly and Boyd took it as some small victory; that his lack of immediate compliance had shaken Ives to the core. Boyd heard Ives wet his mouth again, hesitating for a moment before clapping a hand on his shoulder in too casual a manner to seem anything but forced.

"Tonight though. I expect you there tonight," and in seconds he'd retreated back across the courtyard.

* * *

><p>Hart jerked awake, shuddering as a cold breeze blew over him. The door had been left slightly ajar, though not by him, allowing a cool draft to blow in from the chimney in the living area. Hart shifted, reaching down to lift the comforter slightly, unsurprised to find Ives' thin frame curled at his side. Naked – he always slept naked, despite the cold. As Ives, when he dressed, he dressed well, otherwise he didn't at all. He could remember even in the unsettling mire that was the dizziness of his transformation when Colqhoun had disappeared to bathe in the river, and come back with hair cut and beard neatly trimmed, dressed in Ives' uniform, declaring that he was leaving to rendezvous with Slauson. Hart hadn't initially been able to form an answer, almost unable to believe this was the same man as Colqhoun.<p>

It was rare however that Ives sought solace in Hart's bed, leading him to wonder what inspired the situation now. Most likely Boyd had kicked him out, or denied him access to his bed entirely, and since Hart could smell neither sex nor blood on him, he assumed the latter was true.

Ives was playing with Boyd a game he hadn't needed to with Hart; lulling Boyd into a false sense of security by allowing him to have his way, allowing him to refuse and resist his advancement. But, like a sulking child, Ives didn't like the slow pace at which he was being forced to play and sought refuge in the nearest bed he could find, which was Hart's.

_You just wait 'til there's more of you, _Hart told himself. _He won't even give you the time of day._

_That's fine_, he thought, gathering the smaller man closer to the warmth of his own body. _Then perhaps I can finally have some peace. _And with that he fell back to sleep, and dreamed about the sweet promise of death.

* * *

><p>AN: So yes, it's AU because it's pretty much set in an alternate timeline in which none of them died (after Knox anyway).<p>

I apologise wholeheartedly for removing the sex scene, but I actually like it better with the initial "did they/didn't they?" at the start of the chapter.

I'm also not entirely happy with Boyd referring to Hart and Ives as "dog" and "bitch" respectively, but I just couldn't think of a decent euphemism for that analogy. I think, generally speaking, Boyd is the character I am the weakest at writing. I like him, but I genuinely don't understand him. He's quiet, brooding, kinda pathetic, lashes out unexpectedly, but wants to do the right thing in the end. Usually I can relate to characters at least a little, but with Boyd I don't get that at all. So, if he's OOC, that is why.


	3. Chapter 3

Warnings: M/M slash

Notes: I regard this as something of an epilogue ( I'll explain why P.S). I've called this chapter "chapter 3" rather than "epilogue" though on the off change I'll continue.

Also some formatting/whatever errors from previous chapters have been addressed. No paragraphing issues have been resolves though, I will ALWAYS suck at that. Sorry.

Chapter 3

"How did you do it Boyd?"

"How did I do what?"

Hart met his gaze. "How did you get him to leave you alone?"

Boyd paused before leaning forward conspiratorially. "I just turned him around, told him "no", gave him a swift but firm slap on the rear and sent him straight back out the door."

Hart's lip stretched into a humourless smirk. "No you didn't. He's not a child Boyd, much as he might be acting like one. We both know that wouldn't work on him."

Boyd looked away, smiling to himself as he settled back in his chair.

Slausan had returned a week ago, at full strength and without Martha and Ives had immediately latched onto him, as if in the hope that he could mend the rift that was forming in the camp. Slauson wasn't interested however, believing that his position as General still held some effect, expecting the others to rally around him. Hart and Boyd had, for the most part, complied without argument simply because they had no reason to disobey his orders and were happy to let him believe himself to be in charge for the time being. This had left Ives irritated and bewildered, keeping mainly to himself and ignoring Slauson's orders, which the General was too self-absorbed to register either way, and Hart found Ives in his bed more often than not. Unexpectedly, Hart found Ives initiating sex with him, and, whereas Hart had previously only ever been required to perform for Ives orally, now he required something more, but always asked tentatively, clinging to the larger man almost desperately, now and again pausing to ask if Hart was enjoying it.

In his own mind, Hart couldn't bring himself to admit that there _was_ any real enjoyment there, much as he'd told Ives there was, but he felt it was his duty to keep the other man appeased. He found more and more that the more desperate and broken Ives became the less desirable he seemed on the surface, as if it were the terrifying nature of the Wendigo that attracted him, rather than Ives himself. He found himself after the fact, with Ives trembling and spent in his lap, wishing that Boyd would just take Ives as a lover, so that he could remove himself from the equation entirely.

"You could have him now, you know."

Boyd opened his eyes. He'd almost forgotten Hart was still there.

"He's broken down completely," Hart confessed, "He's reached a point where he doesn't even need blood to become sexually aroused, as if he's just desperate not to be ignored. You could take him as your lover, any way you wanted and still owe him absolutely nothing. I daresay you could kick him out repeatedly and he'd still come back to you with his tail between his legs each night."

"Like he does with you?" Boyd answered coldly.

Hart's eyes narrowed slightly. "_I_ don't kick him out. I can't begin to imagine what he'd do if even I rejected him."

"Maybe you should try it," Boyd answered flatly.

"_I_ don't want to take responsibility for it if he works himself into a rage and murders Slauson," Hart snarled. Boyd eyed Hart warily. It was unnerving when Hart was angry because it was so unusual and yet his quiet rage always served to remind Boyd how large the other man was and that his pent up rage, if released, would be formidable. There was a reason Ives had chosen him after all.

"You're so fond of Slauson?"

Hart pressed his lips together in a tight line, mulling the question over in his mind. "We'd be right back where we started," he answered carefully.

Boyd considered this silently. There was a good reason Ives had kept to the periphery over the past week; wishing on the whole to be ignored by both Boyd and Slauson; Ives hadn't been consuming as much as the others and was probably considerably weaker for it. If by some miracle he did manage to kill Slauson (and Boyd didn't doubt that he could under the right circumstances – Slauson may be the physically stronger of the two but Ives' blood lust had proven to be a most formidable weapon, and Slauson possessed none of Ives' cunning) then Ives could consume him, garner his strength and regain control of both he and Hart.

Perhaps the safest option would be to take advantage of Ives whilst he was in his weakened state, chaining Ives as Ives had chained him, limiting his rations in order to keep his strength in check. Even Boyd had to admit the idea seemed unnecessarily cruel, and the possibility of making Ives even more unhinged was one Boyd didn't particularly wish to face.

Taking Ives instead as a mate might indeed prove useful since it would effectively appease both Hart and Ives, getting Hart firmly behind him as an ally if it ever came to overthrowing Slauson's haphazard attempt at leadership.

Boyd realised Hart had been watching him silently as he turned the thought over and over in his mind. Finally he met Hart's gaze again.

"If he comes to your bed tonight, turn him away," Boyd said flatly and Hart settled back into his chair as a wave of relief rushed over him.

* * *

><p>Ives stiffened as the door to his bedroom creaked open and then closed again, soft footsteps approaching across the floor and towards the bed. Had Hart in the end decided to come to him?<p>

He shuddered at the feel of cool air on his back as the fur he used as a cover was lifted and he felt the weight of another on the mattress behind him, accompanied by the soft sound of clothing being stripped off.

"Hart?" He murmured, moving to turn his head but a hand shot out to cup his chin, pushing his head back down against the pillow and lifting his jaw to expose his neck.

"No," came the soft reply and he stiffened as a bristled cheek pressed against his nape, soft lips sucking gently at his skin before he felt the unmistakable grip of teeth. He let out a strangled gasp, jerking in the other man's grip and Boyd spread himself against the length of the other man's body, rolling him over so that Ives was on his stomach beneath him. Ives' breath hitched in anticipation as he felt Boyd's other hand snaking its way down between his legs, urging him to lift his rear to meet the press of Boyd's fingers.

"You're mine now." Boyd whispered hot blood gathering on his lips where it seeped from a gash in the other man's throat.

* * *

><p>AN: I wanted to end on a high note that implied Boyd was knocking Ives off his perch as "Queen Bitch" (which I think was the implication at the end of ch 2) but I didn't actually want a BAD ending for Ives per se... So this is really an add onepilogue in my mind. You might think it ruins the characters a little though.

I'm not entirely comfortable with turning Ives into a submissive character, but at the same time I like to think that in that situation he WOULD become a little erratic and desperate because he's losing control of a situation he thought he'd planned out meticulously. That said... in reality he'd probably just stick a pick axe through Slauson's skull at this point rather than getting moody that Slauson had taken over. So in that respect this is all a bit unlikely...

Who knows. He might end up doing that anyway. Crazy bastard who already kidnapped my fic idea by insisting on prancing around in furs...


	4. Chapter 4

Warnings: M/M slash, dub-con. And talk of cannibalism LOL duh.

Notes: Thanks for reviewing guys. ILU btw, but you knew that. I'm both simultaneously trying to give this thing a direction and trying to get these guys back in-character but lord knows if I'm doing it right.

If the shifting tenses becomes an irritant I'll try and fix it a bit. Also feel free to report on glaring errors, or just complain in general.

Chapter 4

He awakens. He awakens, and it must be morning because there's light peeking out from behind the animal skins that have been affixed above the windows as makeshift curtains.

The first thing he registers is that he's not cold. One of the many benefits of the Wendigo is a higher tolerance of low temperatures, but at the same time he's more attuned to it. In many ways it's a double-edged sword - the ability to recognise slight shifts in temperature; _knowing_ you're cold and yet simultaneously recognising that your body can withstand it doesn't lessen the sensation at all, it merely makes it easier to ignore. Or perhaps it doesn't... Perhaps it simply transforms the previous dangers of low body temperature into something of an irritant, and though he's always found dangers a lot harder to ignore than irritants, irritants none the less can prove far more persistent. He realises it is irrelevant however, because this morning he isn't cold, despite his recently lacking diet.

He remembers gradually the reason for this, because said reason is curled around him possessively in a manner Hart never would, because Hart wasn't possessive. If anything he was impassive, not even really _there_ when they made love. Not that he could really call it that... Not even with Boyd could he call it that and Boyd had been anything but impassive.

With a gradual shift of his body he realises too that he physically aches a little from the previous night, which is an after effect of sex he hasn't experienced since he was human. He blames Slauson mostly and Boyd only partially – because perhaps if Boyd had actually allowed him to bite him in return the previous night he would have received the necessary flesh and blood to heal entirely. Boyd hadn't allowed it however, indeed he'd seemed intent on keeping Ives utterly incapacitated, and Ives had realised with a flare of annoyance that he had been swift to quell that there was little he could have done to prevent it. He'd asked for it after all, almost begged for it, but it hadn't been the intimacy he'd craved, it'd been the power, the knowledge that he had Boyd on as tight a leash as he had Hart. Evidently things had not gone as planned.

He repositioned himself uneasily on the bed to one he found more comfortable, unwilling to wake Boyd prematurely. What was required of him now was acquiescence, unmitigated devotion to Boyd if that was what it would take in order for him to slowly claw his way back to a position he could comfortably live with. He had no doubts that Boyd was the ideal ally in this situation – Hart was far too whimsical, Ives suspected he was simply counting down the days until he got bored or frustrated enough to off himself and Slauson... Slauson he saw as the weak link. The outsider with no comprehension of the gift he'd been bestowed and no desire to learn about it - indeed Ives imagined that he lacked the intelligence to utilise his gift with any degree of proficiency. Slauson was more than a liability –physically his body was past its prime, he was short of statue and the majority of his bulk was fat, Ives didn't doubt. He'd misjudged him when he'd first made plans to incept him and the mistake needed to be rectified. Boyd was the man to do it.

With every passing day Boyd was proving less and less of the coward he'd originally seemed and he was no longer treating his acquired nature as a curse. The previous night had been nothing if not an explicit display of power and Ives suspected that if he took his time about it, he could easily convince Boyd of Slauson's limited use, though he would not have been the least bit surprised if Boyd had already had such thoughts himself. Last night had been... an education, for both of them. For Ives because he was now better able to assess his position in the camp, and for Boyd because he had found an outlet through which to channel some of the more voracious aspects of his nature.

The hunger, the need for flesh, is not as much a necessity as it is their sole, vile function. This is what Ives believes Slauson fails to comprehend – that rank is of no importance, war is trivial and the only purpose of staying put in Fort Spencer is because they're isolated from those that would call them "monster" and hunt them down, comfortable to wait patiently as a spider guards it's web, for the pray to come to them, by which time their fate will be sealed. The need to consume flesh is their only aspiration, as such their nature is inherently selfish. Ives understands this. He knows that he's governed by desire and he understands intimately how the need to satiate one's lust for human flesh is comparable to the one's libido. It's all about animalistic instincts that will never be quelled, and he's certain Boyd feels it too. The desire to utterly dominate all other life-forms – to have them quivering at your mercy is one that applies to all aspects of life – and the chief aspects are undeniably the need to eat and the need to fuck. As such, Ives' prey and his sexual conquests are not so different in that regard. And Ives knows he might be playing with fire trusting Boyd to understand the distinction. He's still fairly new to this. Allow Boyd one bite too many and he might find him splitting him down the centre, cracking open his rib cage to feast on the organs inside like a horse at the trough, for no other reason than the intoxicating smell of Ives' blood ensnaring his senses in the heat of the moment.

He's going to allow Boyd the benefit of the doubt. At this point he really has no choice, it is Boyd's leniency that's about to be put to the test, not his own.

For the time being it's essential he play the role he'd described so liberally to Boyd regarding fealty and submission, because it's what Boyd seems to want. But soon, very soon he's certain, they'll be able to stand side by side as he'd planned from the beginning.

* * *

><p>Ives had lain in a state of half-sleep for the past hour, patiently waiting for the other man to awaken of his own accord. Aside from the dull ache in his nether regions (which experience had told him would only intensify if he moved) he was quite comfortable, more so than he'd been in a while. It was a seemingly small mercy when Boyd shifted against him, his breath escaping in a long sigh and Ives felt the other man turn, his weight partially lifting and Ives suspected he'd swung his legs around to sit on the edge of the bed.<p>

Boyd rubbed his eyes before turning to look at the form of the other man behind him. Ives' body was tense, his breathing silent.

"I know you're not asleep, Ives. You don't have to wait for my permission to get up." He muttered, reaching over to pull back the fur blanket unceremoniously to bare Ives' flesh to the brisk morning air.

Ives sat up with a hiss of indignation and Boyd smirked at the snarl on the other man's face. It was easy enough for him to submit when he had little to no choice in the matter, feigning submission otherwise did not seem to come naturally to him. Ives seemed to realise his mistake, tearing his gaze away from Boyd's with some desperation, choosing instead to glare at the floor with his lips pressed into a thin line. Boyd wanted to laugh. The other man was trying, that much was obvious, but it seemed his usually calm exterior and natural grace were somewhat diminished when control was removed from within his grasp.

"You should relax a little," Boyd said flatly, rubbing his hair absently and Ives realised with a growing sense of dread that Boyd himself was completely at ease, for the first time since he'd met him. As if Ives was no threat at all. "Hart doesn't want you dead... at least not when you're like this," Boyd continued, looking up and sniffing before fixing his eyes on the other man. "He seems to feel sorry for you. I have no desire to make an enemy of him."

Ives watched as Boyd got to his feet and stretched, the light from the window haloing his body. He could resent Boyd as much as he liked for stealing away his power so completely, but the end result was the same. Boyd was his... or perhaps he was Boyd's, but Ives had known from the start that Boyd was the man for him. Of all the options he'd had, he still believed he'd made the right choice.

Hart was undeniably overweight, and, though not unpleasant to look at, the most attractive thing about him from Ives' point of view was undoubtedly his jovial personality (and even that on occasion became intolerable). He could imagine Slauson having been a handsome man in his glory days, but those were long gone despite a recent flood of colour having returned to his hair and a smoothing of some of his wrinkles. Besides which, he couldn't stand the man.

He himself couldn't even measure up; as a man he had always had trouble keeping his weight up and remained fairly unimpressive to look at now.

Boyd was different. When he wasn't dressed in threadbare sweaters and caked in dried blood he actually cut a fine figure. He was muscular without being physically intimidating, of a reasonable height and blessed with a strong jaw and fine features. He was, in a word, perfect, it had just previously been buried under layers of pathetic behaviour and a lack of fine grooming. Now that it was on show, and had been demonstrated quite spectacularly the previous night, Ives felt that, despite everything, Boyd was something he could be proud of, even if he wasn't in any position to show him off quite in the way he'd hoped.

Ives frowned slightly as Boyd leant down to pull his shirt and blue sweater from the chair.  
>"Don't wear that."<p>

Boyd turned to look at him with a look of quiet surprise which slowly turned to amusement and Ives quickly averted his gaze, wondering if he'd overstepped his self-imposed boundaries yet again.

"And why not?" Boyd asked flatly, but with a hint of a smile, pulling the clothes on despite Ives' protestations. Ives watched impassively, unable to hide the telltale twitch of an eyebrow, registering his annoyance. He turned away again, fixing his gaze on the floor.

"Slauson is... obsessed with appearances." Ives said softly, he turned back to Boyd, who was now giving him his full attention and allowed himself a calculating smile. "He's incredibly shallow... and simple. He doesn't respect you, you know, and he never will if you continue to dress like that."

Boyd remained standing, regarding him silently before reaching up to pull the layers off over his shoulders, discarding them on the chair. He moved silently to the bed and Ives stiffened slightly as Boyd approached, moving down to sit beside him, staring intently into his eyes.

"Why does it bother you what Slauson thinks of me?"

Ives returned his gaze warily. They'd yet to hold a conversation that didn't involve some level of conflict since he'd been Colqhoun, he wasn't sure what Boyd expected of him.

"I think he underestimates you," Ives replied slowly, his eyes narrowed.

"Like you did, you mean?" Boyd asked with a hint of amusement.

Ives' tongue darted out to wet his lips. "I'm perfectly aware of what you're capable of, Boyd," he answered calmly, "possibly even more so than you."

In an instant Boyd had moved across the bed, a hand darting out to tangle in the back of Ives' hair, pulling his head back with a jerk, causing Ives to hiss in pain.

"Really? You sure about that?" Boyd asked with a slight snarl punctuating his words.

Ives took a moment to regain himself before thin laughter escaped his throat. "You're stronger than me, Boyd. I know that much," His gaze darkened. "You're stronger than Slauson too however. If you wanted to... I daresay you could rid us off him altogether."

Boyd narrowed his eyes, freeing Ives from his grip and moving back slowly. "Sorry Ives. I'm not playing your games anymore."

Ives shrugged. "I was merely stating a fact."

"No you weren't," Boyd answered carefully. "What is it Ives? What is it about Slauson that irritates you so much?" He moved back down closer to the other man, bringing his face inches from his as if searching his eyes. "Is it because he's not interested in your little games either? Or is it that he wouldn't let you sit on his cock?"

Ives felt a surge of anger shoot through him but Boyd's hand had enclosed his wrist before he even had a chance to strike and he found his breath stolen from him with the shock. He hadn't even consciously _moved_ and the other man had already sensed and deflected the imminent blow. Hadn't even registered the desire to do it... He was getting slow. He needed to eat and soon.

Ives let out a breath of nervous laughter, unable to keep a smile from creeping across his face. "I'm sorry Boyd..." He purred. "I don't know what came over me."

Boyd simply narrowed his eyes at him before letting out a breath of humourless laughter, roughly pushing Ives away from him as he let go of his wrist. "I like this newfound attitude on you, Ives," he said as he got back to his feet and began to dress, this time in only his trousers and coat since he'd left his other clothes in his own room but had, evidently, taken Ives opinion to heart. "But it doesn't suit you at all."

Ives stared at the other man in disbelief; unsure of what Boyd was suggesting, unsure if it was even his place to ask for clarification.

Boyd shot him a stern look from his position beside the door. "Get dressed. We have a meal to prepare."

* * *

><p>AN: Slauson is a short arse. Who knew? I think I mentioned something about him being bigger than Ives in a previous chapter, so let's pretend I just meant it with regards to overall bulk. I haven't reread it in a while though so I might have to do that at some point to make sure I haven't completely lost the plot.<p>

I have no idea what I'm writing anymore. Also I can't write Boyd for shit. He is a mystery wrapped in an enigma with puzzle pieces stuck in his hair. But I'm not convinced all the pieces are even in there... WHERE ARE THE MISSING PIECES? GAAAAH!


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